A New Avatar
by rnewe1998
Summary: Set four generations after Korra, this new avatar, Tyro, lives in a vastly different world than where the Legend of Korra was left. Tehcnology has advanced, and the world has entered another war that calls for this naive avatar to mediate.


The scorching sun ceaselessly baths the barren desert in waves of heat. The sand between my toes has never known the feeling of rain. I haven't either. Water is a rarity in the Si Wong Desert. We barely have enough to fill a canteen much less see it fall from the sky. I fish my canteen out of the sand, put the now hot brim to my mouth, and finish off my daily ration that is about as much as a turtle duck could hold in its beak. Observing the position of the sun in the sky, I deduce that there is still four hours of work left. Four more long hours of labor without any water to help bare the burden of lifting crate after crate of traded goods. I defeatedly plop down in the sand and fiddle with the cap to my canteen.

I must have looked really thirsty because my friend, Taroz, stopped working and offered me some of his water.

"The heat doesn't really bother me, I guess that's because of my Fire Nation blood," he says as he sits down next to me, "plus you look like you could use it the way you're lugging those boxes around,"

I let out a small laugh, "thanks, Taroz."

He sits in the sand with me while I sip on his water.

"You know, I still don't understand why we don't have bots doing our job," he says.

"When was the last time you saw a labor bot around here?" I respond.

"Never, I guess. But I thought Nasak would break down by now and buy a one to help us."

"Nasak would never spend money to help us," I say.

He agree then goes on to talk about the latest in trading issues.

"Ever since the beetle-heads got sacked by the Forces, all of the tribes have been running low," he says.

"Yeah, the crates were feeling a little bit lighter," I respond in-between sips.

After about a five minutes of conversation, I hand him back the now half empty canteen and get up.

"We should get back to work," I say as I brush the sand off my pants.

I help Taroz up and trudge back to the loading dock. Taroz easily scoops up two of the heavier crates and rests them on his shoulders. It never ceases to amaze me how he can carry so many in one trip.

As I bend down to grab a crate of Lychee Nuts, I see, for a slip second, someone peak from behind a stack of boxes about ten feet away. I abandon the box of nuts (which felt conspicuously light) and go to investigate. When I look behind the stack, nothing is there. I do a full circle around the loading dock and find no one besides a lone bustard wasp in the distance. "_This heat is making me loose my mind_," I say to myself as I look around in disbelief.

I'm still recovering from my momentary bout of insanity when Taroz is back for another trip.

"Are you okay? Want more water?" he asks, looking at my still-stunned face staring at him, "what? is there something on my tattoo?"

He starts rubbing his combustion eye.

"What? No," I didn't even realize I was looking at it, "stop playing with that or you're going to blow us both up."

After three more hours of loading and unloading boxes, the sun begins to set, signifying the end of the work day. The scene of the sun dipping below the horizon brightens my mood a little bit, and Taroz and I walk off the loading dock to collect our pay for the day.

The two of us walk into Nasak's hut. He has the nicest huts in the tribe. The common, dull dirt caked ground is covered in blue carpets and furniture, a homage to his homeland the Northern Water Tribe. He has three different rooms, diverging from the common one room huts the other 99.9% of our tribe live in. But the most unbelievable part is the water. Behind his bed is a flowing, clear waterfall. It's probably the largest amount of water I ever seen in one place. And it's such a waste! You could fill up 50 canteens with the water from it, but he just uses it to show off. No one has, or will, ever challenge him on it, unless they wanted all of their money cut off, or maybe a spirit laser to the head.

He calls us into his room where I come face to face with the obnoxious, flowing wall of water behind him. He is casually lounging atop his silk blue sheets, counting the currency notes in his hands.

"My boys!" he exclaims as we enter, "I was just working out your pay."

We stand there as he grabs a worn, dusty digital tablet from the floor.

"Ok, here's the deal," he pauses, furrowing his brow over the screen, "you're both getting fifteen notes."

Before we can say anything, he continues.

"And don't even start, you think your the only ones losing money now'a days?" he says, "I had to trade my favorite spirit beam to those damn beetle heads for just one crate of moon peaches. Not to mention the money I'm throwing at you kids for pushing around boxes all day."

I want to say something, but I know better. He throws two small stacks of notes at me and Taroz and tells us to get out.

"I thought you were going to bend a bolder at his face in there," Taroz says as we walk the streets home.

"I've always want to do that to him," I say, shoving the notes into my pocket.

We walk the streets back to our neighborhood, passing a group of sandbenders out of their minds on cactus juice harassing us for money. By the time I reach the threshold of my hut, all I want to do is go to sleep.

My mother is washing clothes at the table when I enter.

"How was work?" she asks, lifting her head from her work.

"The usual. Except I got paid less again," I respond.

Her face immediately drops, accentuating the tole time and this place has took on her once pretty face.

"How much?" she asks.

I hand her over the thin stack of notes.

"We'll make it work," she says, counting the money.

"How? Were not going to be able to make it work at some point. You've heard about the Beetle Heads getting busted by the Forces. It's only a matter of time before they start coming for smaller tribes like ours. And how would they feel if they came across a tribe full of criminals."

"We are not criminals," my mother says sternly.

"Yes we are. I know you brought me here when I was four so I could escape the draft. I know Nasak came here after he stole from the Forces. If they caught me for evading the draft or him for stealing, they kill us on the spot," I say.

"Enough," my mother says, in a labored tone, "go to your room."

I wave my arms in frustration, and that's when something terrible happens. A stream of bright, scorching fire erupts from my fingertips that catch my mother in face. She screams in pain and collapses to the rough, earthy floor.

My heart sinks into my gut like I just swallowed a bolder. My head quickly becomes hazy in panic. I run from the scene. Run down the street, run past the intoxicated sandbenders, run past Nasak's hut, run past the loading dock. I run until I can run anymore. I collapse in the middle of the desert, but I'm not alone.

The person, or thing, I saw earlier today appears in front of me. I stare in awe at the figure for five seconds until I black out.


End file.
